


darling, dearest. dead.

by FloodFeSTeR



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Abuse, Acceptance, Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Violence, Consensual Sex, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Evil, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feelings, Missing Persons, Parent/Child Incest, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Repressed Memories, Sexual Violence, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Tragic Romance, Trust Issues, Twisted, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 00:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10605165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloodFeSTeR/pseuds/FloodFeSTeR
Summary: Birdy sees the world differently.Birdy isn't . . .normal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I just. . .yeah, there's this

She remembers a sunflower in the field.

That's what sticks out most from that day, was the sunflower.

It had been tall and fat, sitting high above the dead grass around it, comrades trampled by horses from the field, armadillos digging up the rest to get at their seeds. It looked proud and rebellious, swaying in the October chill, still not quite cold because hey it was the South and the humidity was strong that year.

The year her family of five became two.

Momma took the twins, Jaime and Rosalind, and left Birdy behind with her Papa. Not that she minded, she loved her Papa, but when Momma left and he started calling her Birdy. . .she couldn't even remember her real name anymore, she had been so little when Momma left.

She remembered her Papa cutting down the sunflower that night.

* * *

She doesn't mind when Papa drinks.

He doesn't do it as much as he used to, when Momma first left, but she didn't mind it all that much then either. It made him get up, made him fun and silly, instead of him sitting in that chair in the living room all day and night, staring at the television and not letting Birdy see. She wanted to watch something with flowers and color, not the local channels that held static and black-n-white cars on a track.

No, Birdy didn't mind when her Papa drank, but she wasn't staying inside all day again.

" 'm goin out Papa," she called as she jogged down the stairs, pulling her hair out of the vice her leather jacket had made when she put it on.

"Where ya goin," he hardly even turned his head from watching his egg fry on the stove.

"Dunno, walk around a bit, its stuffy in here."

She paused with a hand on the door knob, looking back and frowning at the large bruise on her Papa's right shoulder. It stood out hard against the dingy white of his wife-beater, and looked nasty. He must have hurt himself on the stairs again last night, she had become a heavy sleeper but when she got up that morning, she noticed one of the beams was off the railing and leaning towards the fall to the first floor.

He grunts and she takes that as her cue to leave, the screen door rattling shut behind her. She has a bike, she doesn't know the first thing about driving, and Papa wouldn't allow her to touch the old car in the garage. Her bike is one of those girly things, with streamers and a tarnished Hello Kitty bell on the handle bar.

She inhaled the scent of the marsh as she crunches gravel beneath her tires, the wind biting her beneath her jacket because the zipper is broken. She wished she could have new things, but that meant Papa would have to come out of his stupor and she was too young to get her own job - no one hired sixteen year olds around here. And especially because she was a girl, backwoods men unwilling to catch up with the times.

Birdy couldn't wait to leave.

Papa said she could when she turned eighteen, even said she could have the car until she could afford her own which was awesome. She wanted to move far away, like New York or something; she wanted to be a dancer. She practiced real hard, every night, because Papa wouldn't drive her to classes anymore.

Sometimes she hated her Papa.

Birdy scrunched up her nose at the wave of stench that came through the wind, sighing as she turned around a soft corner. There was a four-way up ahead, and she knew she could keep going straight to see if anyone was at the camping grounds anymore, and if not she would skip rocks in the water. There wasn't much to do anymore, since people starting going missing, but it was mostly teenagers so Papa said they just ran away.

How could they? She would never runaway from her Papa.

Birdy looked up and to her left just as headlights bathed over her in the early morning haze, the grill of the car ramming into her at top speed and sending her flying through the air.

She hit the ground without a sound, her nails scraping and breaking against the gravel, hair bloody and numb. Her eyes were hooded, pulling her towards sleep; she couldn't move, everything felt broke.

She was broken.

Her eyes rolled back, but not before she saw it, waving through the moss of the marsh, a lone sunflower winking in the breeze.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter: (@ LikePicklez )


End file.
